


Yesterday

by PeachyKeen_WithCream



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drabble, F/M, First Kiss, Pre-Series, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:32:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeachyKeen_WithCream/pseuds/PeachyKeen_WithCream
Summary: The five times which Katara and Sokka shared a bed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own 'Avatar: The Last Airbender' nor am I profiting off this.

One:

Katara’s fingers are wet with drool and cold. She presses her face against the blankets, wiping furiously in an attempt to replace their mother’s skirts. 

Yesterday he would’ve told her to stop sucking on her fingers, but yesterday their mother was alive. 

Katara sucks on her thumb the whole night with snot drying on her face. 

Yesterday he would’ve told her to get out of his bed, but yesterday their mother was alive. 

Two:

Sokka’s fingers are smeared black and white. The added responsibility of being a man makes lifting the blankets difficult. It’s more difficult to lift the wobbling tone from his voice. 

Yesterday she would’ve giggled at his warrior attempts, but he Sokka was still a boy then. 

He wakes up in the morning with black and white paint underneath his nails.

Three:

Gran-Gran becomes a solemn faced guardian for the village with stooped shoulders and enormous patience. Now they’re expected to be guardians - minus the reassuring years of wisdom gained with age and experience. Katara keeps fussing with the edges of their blankets and mumbling under her breath. 

Yesterday he would’ve laughed at her fussing, but the Avatar didn’t even exist then. 

Four:

Katara is getting tired of near-death experiences. Right behind hostage situations, hunger pains and the constant changing weather. Sokka makes counting their bruises a nightly game. He gives up on fifteen.

Yesterday she would’ve laughed at his fussing. Tonight she tucks her head beneath his chin. 

Five:

Katara’s fingers are wet and warm – harsh in their grip around his wrist as she demands how he could almost die like that? Sokka smiles at her with blood under his nails and fresh wounds on his skin. It’s the same smile he kisses her with.

The corner of her mouth tastes like blood, salt and tears. Her fingers dig into his shoulders and finally allows herself a sob.

Yesterday he would’ve let her sleep across his legs, but yesterday they weren’t children in a war.


End file.
